


A Dedicated Friend

by LeenaJ



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Awkwardness, Bathtubs, First Time, John Watson is Not Gay, M/M, the word "kiss" is used a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeenaJ/pseuds/LeenaJ
Summary: How Watson accepted Holmes’ proposition
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

It was a moment in my life. You have to understand. I’ve never done that before, in every sense of never done that before.

Holmes is my dearest, truest friend, my companion from the last ten years. We shared a living for eight years during that decade. And there was not a single thing he would have not do for me, and there was not a single thing I was not capable of doing, to prove to him, and the world, the most wonderful man I believed he was. The most talented, smart and sophisticated man. I was willing to do anything he shall ask me.

So yes, I did it. I lied to him. Because of that devotion. I lied, about the most inner, the most personal stuff that you could lied about. I… I should feel so ashamed of myself.

But let me present you all the picture, before you judge me guilty. Guilty of breaking an amazing friendship.

**~**

I was forty-three, I’ve lost my dear wife Mary since two years now. And I have taken back my place, the room of the second floor at 221-b Baker Street, about two months ago.

During the years I’ve spent in the army, I’ve seen some of my companions indulged in this particularity, and albeit I’d received some offers, I had never… well I’d never.

I had no prospect, no further ambition other than helping my genius friend Sherlock Holmes, with all my frail assets. No more ambition than witness his brightness, and sharing my admiration with my readers.

My social life was Holmes. And Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. Well, Holmes above all, you see. I took no more patients, and the number of the current ones was low enough, that I didn’t require any assistance.

I was not looking for love, or marriage. My Mary was still in my heart, and although I didn’t cry her during the nights, like I used to, there was a place in my heart where she lived, and that will always be hers.

You might ask about my sex life, and you may be right. I could require, some day, assistance of a woman (yes, woman, again there was never another possibility in my mind). But, when I agreed to Holmes’ proposition, I wasn’t thinking about sex, I mean I wasn’t thinking about it as _my_ sex life (which is indeed contradictory).

I was only thinking about Holmes, about a friend. A dear friend in need, a dear friend asking, the very one who saved me, not just in our adventures, but who saved my life from its misery. He saved me the day I met him: thanks to him I found joy in life after the war, a goal. Thanks to him I met Mary Morstan, and then he saved me again, from my loneliness, after she passed away.

So when a cherished friend like him, a brilliant man like Holmes, asks you to share his life, to share his life… in the bedroom, what do you say?

**~**

He asked me to provide him an intimacy he never had (because he never felt _the strong confidence_ he puts on me, with _another human being_ ), and God, I felt so humble.

He asked me for a kiss in front of the fireplace, when our landlady shall sleep tight. He asked me for a kiss in the mornings, when I’ll leave our apartment, shall it may be just the two of us, of course.

He asked me to show him how I like to pleasure myself, and how I like to pleasure others. In so beautiful words, he asked me, my blushing face towards him, to hold him, and _just him_ , till death takes us apart (and really, not even death could separate Holmes from me now, I knew that fact).

I said, _yes_ . Yes. God, what did I do? He smiled at me, he was happy, relieved that _I share his eagerness_ , and I know he meant his feelings. He thought I could share his thrill, his lust… Lord, Holmes has lust. How is that even possible?

And there he was magnificent, surrounded by light, his elbow on the mantelpiece. My eyes on him, he glowed. I swear he did. And although I found him beautiful, I felt no sexual attraction.

He didn’t want to wait. Oh God. I held on my chair. He wanted me to follow him, in his bedroom! God help me, I did. I told him cowardly _we should wait,_ he said _I was delicate_ , but _there was no means to be afraid of his virginity._ If only it was his virginity I was scared of.

We shared a bed that night, he was so thrilled to have win me, that he didn’t want to let me go upstairs. We took our respective clothes off, save for our undergarments, I shut off the lights as soon I was under his covers.

He said _good night, Watson_. I was unable to speak. I felt him, I swear, I have never felt someone so strongly on my skin, and he wasn’t even touching me. Minutes passed, he murmured something, but I’ve forgot English meaning. I was petrified.

I heard, as well as sensed him move, and he clumsily tried to touch my arm, my hair. Then, he hesitated to put his head on my shoulder, I tensed. He tried his head on my torso, I stopped breathing. I was lost and scared. But he was Sherlock Holmes, my friend, the genius who fell for me. Me, John Watson, an average human. He nearly tried to put his face on my shoulder: he waited for my lead. He wishes: I’ll provide.

In that instant I knew I will give him everything, every parcel of myself. My body, my soul, my heart (the part Mary didn’t stole, a quite huge part, and I hope it was enough for Sherlock Holmes). So I took the lead, and we embraced each other, he fell asleep quickly in my arms. I hold him closer and he sighed. God, I sighed too, because I was relieved too, in a weird way.

Indeed, after that evening and his announcement, I remained baffled for a long moment. But holding Holmes in the dark like this, I found a peace. A peace I wasn’t even looking for. I will follow Holmes I thought, I will lead us to hell if it is his desire, his command.

I loved him, Lord, I so love him. He is my best friend, my salvation. My hope. And my future too apparently.

What if he wanted to be my lover? Then so be it. I will need some knowledge, and I hope my desire will arise, otherwise he may not be fully satisfied. I will check with you soon, wish me luck. 


	2. Chapter 2

I was taking a bath when Holmes entered the room without knocking. I was shocked, clumsily trying to keep some modesty. Albeit the extend of our relationship has changed, we could keep some privacy during our bath time, so I thought. Well, I was wrong, and not just about Holmes’ ideas of boundaries, but I was wrong because he hadn’t forget about a part of our agreement, the  _I wish to see how you pleasure yourself._ And apparently he decided it was tonight I shall provide him a show.

**~**

It was two weeks after his proposition, after that first night when we fell asleep in the arms of each other.

During the day light, nothing much has changed. I managed to fail to provide him the  _morning leaving kiss_ (it was a bit too much). He was always absorbed by one of his experiment, or reading the daily news, so he never complained. 

The moon up in the sky, it was different. I successfully brought him to orgasm, each time he wanted.

The first time, I massaged and oiled him, all over his body, very sensually, and very slowly. So much so, I just had to friction his manhood a few times before he exploded. I must confess, to my relief, it wasn’t so strange, I wasn’t repulsed. After all, I touched mine often, and the texture wasn’t different.

The next time, he asked me to touch him down there immediately,  _enough with all the teasing, Watson_ . I like the fact that the man isn’t different in bed, from the commanding Holmes I know so well. And touching doesn’t bother me, so. 

After three nights doing just so, I brought back the oil from the drawer. I used my medical knowledge, and gave him the most powerful orgasm I have ever witness, with two of my hands.

The very next day, he seemed fascinated by everything there is to know about this particular area in the male body. He consulted my anatomy books (probably looking for something his mind had deleted beforehand), and wanted to know what I learned as a doctor.

He especially wanted to know how many times did I put my finger in a patient,  _how many fingers, Watson, how many men_ . It could have been a real jealousy, I wasn’t sure, this fellow is a weird bird after all. 

I kept telling him it was so much different that shouldn't count,  _you are the only man Holmes_ , but he seemed vexed. So much so, he didn’t want anything from me, until I put my mouth on his shaft. He jumped, and was hard so quickly it was almost comical. Then I sucked him. Like I planned I will (he asked me to show him how to pleasure someone after all). 

And I love using my mouth. On his lips, on his neck. And there we are.

With someone who lacks so much experience like my friend, there is a lot to do (allowing me to distract the attention from me). He doesn’t taste bad, Sherlock Holmes is very neat, hygiene is something very important for the detective.

I wouldn’t believe that I could distract him from the discovery of the pleasure his ass could provide him, at least not so soon. But I succeeded. He didn’t stop thanking me, telling me I was _so good._ And that night he kissed me for so long, I thought we’d lost our breaths many times. 

We always kiss after his pleasure. Sherlock Holmes likes kissing, a lot. That something I haven’t stressed enough yet. He asks for kisses as a child for candies. He enjoys them, all of my kisses, so much.

I must confess I like our kisses as well. Holmes’ kisses comfort me. There are also passionate, so much so I am often overwhelm, they are desperate sometimes too. His mouth is hot and smooth, and I will love kissing him forever. He has learned everything about kissing, the pressure, the angle, how to use your tongue. He kisses like me, because he has only kissed me. He kisses like I like, and that’s what he wanted.

Although I enjoy the kisses, that’s the extend of it so far. He thankfully never asked and never tried anything else. He simply looks at my softness every night, with the same resignation. He kisses me with all the desperation, but nothing changes.

He is a man, and I love women.

**~**

But there he is today, sitting on the wooden chair across from our bathtub, explaining to me that he needs to  _see_ . 

He wants to see my face, and hear the sounds I make (god, I haven’t told you about the sounds he does when I pleasure him, that is something, well, I will try to describe it another time).

So there he is, when I was relaxing alone just a minute ago. And tells me to start whenever I want,  _but quite quickly._ Really, sometimes I wonder about his sanity. 

_I don’t feel in the mood right now Holmes, frankly. - Please! don’t pretend a relaxing hot bath had never had that effect on you, I know you._

How well does he know me indeed. How could he have guess that? (images of Holmes hiding behind the door when I touched myself in the past, start to disturb me).

_Really, John, we can’t find a better time!_ I prevent myself to tell him a better time would be when he’s outside the room, he used my christian name after all. It must be serious. He only uses it in moments of weakness, generally sweat on his skin, under our covers. 

I have two choices. I could tell him I have no desire to go further, because I lied to him when I said I was willing to have intercourse with a man. Or, I could do what he says, and clearly that shouldn’t be much difficult, it’s been a long time. Plus, Holmes is sitting far above touching distance.

So I choose option two, and do what he asks, per usual. I start touching myself under the water. After a moment I close my eyes, enjoying it, I let my head fall on the towel I always put on the edge of the tub. Holmes being there watching me is not as odd as I thought.

We share an intimacy now. Furthermore, Holmes is a dear friend, it could be two friends who help each other in this area. Since he trusts me, since I renounced marriage. Just two men, together like this.

I moan, my eyes open, I look at Sherlock, who is  _so_ focus on me. He looks as if he’s watching a wild animal you shall not strike. He is aroused too, there is a budge in his pants, but he doesn’t move at all, too much absorbed by the spectacle of me moaning in the water. I slip, I’m near, and I close my eyes again. I hear him breathing faster. I keep going, and cry.

A minute passes after I finish, I’ve put my arms out of the water. Then, in slow motion, Sherlock stands, comes really close to me (I briefly fear he’s gonna ask me something for him too), he stops, and thanks me.

He tilts his head, and kisses me languorously. The sound of a big splash stops our delicious kiss. My legs have moved in a way that even my friend is wet now, I've unconsciously tried to get closer to him.

He looks at me with a rare intensity.  _You’re welcome Sherlock_ , I smile and add,  _my pleasure_ . He smiles too, kisses me again, sweetly. 

Then he leaves, but before closing the door, he looks back at me (I must seem dumb in the tub like that, disheveled hair thanks to his hands, members unstable and mouth open). He doesn't flinch, and says softly,  _I like it when you call me Sherlock._ God.


	3. Chapter 3

After that episode in the bathroom, Sherlock tries to take his bath with me all the time.

He is not subtle, so mostly I have the chance to say no, one time I threaten him to put a lock on that door. And one day, I tell him that it won’t be enough anyway. He raises his eyebrow: we have never acknowledged the fact that I can’t be aroused by him. 

Although he finally gave up, he still comes in the room without knocking, looking for  _a thing_ , and doesn’t pretend to not look at me. I feel his presence while I bath, I’m sure that he’s lurking somewhere. I am used to it now and don’t even stop in my movements. 

My friend seems to use the striking energy and passion he usually puts in his work, in another mission: that Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson have a  _reciprocate_ intimate relationship. Fair to say it is a heavy mission, but my companion doesn’t lack stubbornness or imagination. I am waiting for a new tentative from his part, simply wondering what would it be next time. 

For example, one day he put woman’s perfume in our room, trying to trick my senses. Another time, he used the oil to massage me, like I did for our first time. But between an occasional user of opium, and an ex-army man there is a big difference: I was tensed, and it didn’t work either.

We nearly succeeded one night. In a total darkness, I moved above his body, slowly, kissing him lightly, he was moving too. I was hard for the first time, happy with his moans, his surrender. It was good, he looked at me hopeful, his eyes shining. But then, I don’t really know what happen, I sort of panic, and we let it go.

So clearly, you see, when Holmes entered our apartment that afternoon, with the flowers in his hands, I didn’t give it a second thought.

**~**

Sometimes I wonder why Holmes is doing all of that. Is it a new experiment? No, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t do that to me. Despite all his shining armor he has built around his heart, I know he has one, one big heart. He is considerate (in his own way), and he is kind.

Why is he doing it, then? Could it be so simple as a man who doesn’t want to be alone anymore? Who wants to find the joy of a relationship? And when anything has been simple with Holmes?

Could it be love? I’ll be honest with you, I haven’t eliminated this possibility. But love, really?

Holmes is a man of science, so there is a higher possibility, that the reason is him reading some study saying that _a man entering in a relationship improves his health._ We are not young, Holmes will enter the forty next year, and he may have find a way to maintain his strength. 

But the probability of Holmes loving me, I keep going back to it. At night he is sweet, we cuddle like two loving koalas. We kiss with passion, I read some stuff in his kisses, that I can’t even tell you about. His kisses are like a loving song that chains me in his arms, and I fell, I fell each time.

At first, I thought my love for him was one of a strong friendship, an unconditional admiration. But, I have to admit it now: I am helplessly in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Still, something blocks me, his gender probably. So Sherlock tries and tries to find something that will do the trick.

**~**

This day, I was thinking at how I, fair Dr Watson, well known heterosexual man, I entered in a hidden gay liaison, when he appeared in the living room flowers in hand. I thought it was a new tentative, a romantic touch for me. I was wrong. Again. Sherlock never ceases to surprise me it seems.

I haven’t noticed the date. Holmes and I investigated on a long case lately. I was trying to put it on writing, before I forget about all his deductions. This case won’t be published any time soon, because of the people involved, but still, that was a lot of work for me (I changed names in my script for security), plus I was being distracted by my love affair with my friend.

So please forgive me, if I’ve briefly forgotten the day we were. The bouquet still in his hands, Holmes asked me when I’ll be ready to go. I looked at him confused, he rolled his eyes.  _The cemetery, Watson, can’t you see that is chrysanthemum I have?_ Like I was supposed to know the signification of these flowers.

So Holmes decided to come on the grave of Mary with me this year?

It has been three years since we lost her. Each anniversary of her death, I brought flowers to her grave, then come back to Baker Street to share my bad mood with Holmes. And this year he decided to go with me. It struck me: it wasn’t just physical for him either.

This gesture moved me so much. I understood that day that he respected Mary, so much more than I thought. It hit me: loving Holmes doesn’t change the fact that I loved Mary. Being with him doesn’t mean I stopped loving her. I wasn’t disrespectful, I didn’t break a vow.

In the end, my problem all along wasn’t that I loved women, it was that I still loved Mary.

And would my Mary be offended by the development of Holmes and I relationship? I dare to think not. Mary Morstan was nothing but tolerant, and she was kind. She engaged during the campaign of women’s right to vote. She was feminist, she was altruist, and she often kept me on my toes. No doubts she couldn’t imagine what my friend and I do in our intimacy. But I don’t think she would have condemned our love, plus I am sure she would have want me to be happy again.

**~**

When all of this thing with Holmes started, when he came, months ago, with his unexpected proposition, I have thought it was me who was supposed to take care of him. I thought I was the one to provide him something, the one to take the lead on the new path of our relationship.

But now I wonder, what if I was seeing it all wrong since the start? Holmes is more capable of humanity than any other human being I have ever met. And there are people who dare say he’s a sociopath! Shame on them.

He may have ask me things I was reluctant to give him at first, but he gave me so much more. He knew I was someone who likes taking care of others. Seeing Sherlock opening himself like that, get out of his shell, together we transformed our vision of love, sex and our friendship.

He gave me a mission again, he gave me affection. I am needed, and I know it isn’t fake. He really loves me. God, how did I get so lucky? When I thought my life was hiding no more surprise, no more passion.

**~**

At night, the light of candles weakly shining around us, I think about my epiphany. I look at my beautiful man, kiss his naked shoulder, Sherlock smiles at me. I ask him to forgive me, that  _it took me so long to figure out the obvious_ . He answers that  _not everyone can be a genius, my friend_ .


End file.
